Sonnet 1

Sweet, sweet persimmon of slimy, syrup gold
Kept ripe, away from flies.
But of your delights, some secret, I've only been told
'Cause you're still green, as each leaf dries

Slipped so casually into a flutter,
Truly, truly nothing fills me with such unease.
I'd no rather whisper sweet, and shudder,
than try to translate the breeze.

Sweet, sweet persimmon, so unripe, too soon to bye,
I've lost all I time had to flip,
Every corner. Space too full to sigh,
With all your sleepy, silent-- Drip.

For fear to miss the taste,
I abandon all words, so time, I did not waste.